Elemental Warfare: Battle Scenes
by Maevenly
Summary: War has come, a battle has already started where the very elements are wielded weapons. Chapt 2: Who says Hufflepuffs have to play nicely?
1. Chapter 1

Across the British Isles, a blood red dawn streaked the sky. A stiff north-east wind snapped banners, standards and flags taut throughout the day. Cresting high tides slapped jetties and threatened to pull apart piers and pilings as the sun started its downward journey to late afternoon. The rumble of thunder shook the earth. The crack of lightening seared the cloudless sky.

Londoners, Scots, Welsh and Irish kept their windows locked, doors barricaded and marketplaces vacant. Children did not cry. Men did not begrudge staying indoors. Women were quiet.

Muggle or wizard, squib or witch did not matter. All were aware that the building blocks of life: earth, fire, wind and water were turmoil. That the four elements and the secrets they carried were now the instruments of survival and conquest.

Riders clad in leather pulled the reins tight on the bits forced deep into the dragons' mouths. Dipping and swooping, the downdrafts from their wings knocked Death Eaters, werewolves and other Dark allies off their feet. Smoke, stench, swirling dirt and the ugliness of battle came into sharp focus as his dragon's belly nearly scraped the ground before climbing to the sky again. A sudden flick of the animal's tail had him turning in his saddle. A masked, robed figure slid off one of the longer spikes at the base of the beast's tail, leaving a discernable smear. Tumbling a hundred feet to the field below, his cries were swallowed by the wind that made the air currents treacherous to navigate. A red-haired man pulled his dragon's head to the left and began an upward spiral. Levelling off, he waited. Within moments, eight more dragons and their riders were fanned out behind him. A wicked gleam shone in his eyes. Calling out his command, he turned his head into the wind and set his heels into the flanks of his dragon. Primal and powerful, the animal surged forward. This time, he pulled the creature to the right. Diving once again, all nine dragons plummeted. Their wings all but completely folded flat against their bodies. Glancing around him, he lifted his hand and then let it fall: mimicking their leader, all reins fell slack against the dragon's necks. The ground was rushing up at him and adrenaline thrummed through Charlie's veins as he heard the bit clank freely inside the animal's mouth and he felt the ribcage of his dragon expand and swell. Leaning forward, clutching onto the spiny mane and gripping the saddle with his thighs, his eyes sparked with anticipation. Grit flew into his mouth. The sound of curses – magical and explicative – roared in his ears. The snapping of eighteen wings unfolding pulled a war-cry from the nine riders as they glided over enemy lines. Fire spewed from the dragons they incinerated everything left, right and centre. The beast's deep breaths transformed the Riddle family fields into a hell on earth.

Feeling the beast completely exhale, Charlie snatched up the reins and gave them a practiced flip which secured the bit – and retainer – firmly in the animal's mouth. A certain tension settled over the animal as they once again sought the sanctuary of the sky. The ability to produce fire had once again been capped. Clapping the dragon on its neck, knowing full well that the scales would send the vibrations of his touch to the sensitive receptors, he conveyed his gratitude and respect.

Looking behind him, seven out of eight of his comrades took up formation. Scanning the fray below, it was a moment before he saw a sight that turned his stomach. A blinded Short Snout, trailing a nearly severed wing, was being taunted by a pack of snarling werewolves as it defended the mangled body of its rider. Shallow breaths and brief spurts of fire told him what happened. It had been hit with a Conjuctivus Curse. Unable to see, the dragon nicked the ground, crashed and broke some ribs in the fall, crushing the rider in the process.

Steeling his face, Charlie un-strapped his wand from his thigh and pointed at the flagging dragon. Timing the words _Incendio Inflamare_ with the split second the dragon converted breath to flame, the creature, the rider and a vicious werewolf burst into flames.

Turning away from the sight of the burning carcass, Charlie re-sheathed his wand and pulled the reins to the left. The chill of high altitude bit through his protective leather gear. Hovering safely behind D.A. and Phoenix lines, he waited.

_Ron's plan may work after all… _


	2. Chapter 2

**Elemental Warfare: Air**

"MOVE!"

The ground smacked her ass before she figured out that he meant _heads up!_ Propping her head and chest off the ground with her elbows, the sting of swirling grit bit into her skin. Pushing her weight against her legs, she was upright just in time to see a dark blur come hurtling down at her. _What the hell?_

"Damn it – GET DOWN!" Neville fired off a curse with his wand arm, the other hand was flung in her direction.

Wandless magic jerked her backwards a good fifteen feet and landed her on her ass – again. Scrambling to her feet again, the thump of a body falling out of the sky and striking the same ground where her ass hit the ground the first time did not spare Longbottom from a getting a dirty look. "Thanks for the owl."

"Susan – get up here!"

Summoning her dropped wand, Susan hurried back into position.

_Hold the line_.

That was imperative.

Weasley said it was.

_So it will be_, she vowed.

Dodging to the left, a _Sectumsempra _curse struck someone behind and to the left of her. Reflexively twirling out of the way, a jet of purple light narrowly missed her cheek and fluttered her eyelashes as it flew towards enemy lines. Coming out of the spin, she fired off a rapid series of spells in the direction of the furthest sounding voices. Anyone near her would be victims of friendly fire, which were acceptable. They had told her so. It was war and this was battle. To her left was Terry Boot. On the other side of Longbottom was Daphne Greengrass. So went the line: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin, all fighting side by side. Didn't matter if they all graduated years ago, House identities did not end because school did or that Hogwarts was a charred ruin.

"Susan!" Terry Boot yelled. Squinting through the haze, his shout was diminished by the din of spell-casting, exploding earth, expletive hurling, the bellowing of Gwap somewhere behind her and the counter-cries of the fighting injured.

"I need – "

The sight of a vampire, teeth bared, heading straight for her, meant Terry would have to wait. Stepping up, a snarl of her own pulling back her lips, artistry was traded for efficiency. Pivoting on her heel, putting her back to the vamp, she tossed her wand into her left hand and slammed the blunt end of her wand into the heart cavity of the charging vampire. Driving through flesh and sinew, she pushed harder as the momentum of her initial thrust slowed. Tucking her head, letting her hair fall around her face as a protective screen, her elbow was suddenly pushing against nothingness. A shower of dust coating her back was the 'all clear' sign that put Terry back at the top of her list.

Vampire ash spread from head to heel, the back of her hand lifted the wispy layers of her hair away from her face. Flinging it back and over her shoulders, she looked to where Terry was supposed to be standing – not grappling in a clash of leverage with some Death Eater that had four inches and seventy-five pounds of more mass to his frame. _Not smart, Ravenclaw_.

Twirling her wand so that the handle was nestled in the fold of her palm, she lifted her elbow to shoulder height and locked her wrist. Susan was momentarily grossed out when she saw Terry spit at the larger man's face and watched the Death Eater – literally – eat up Terry's defiance. The Death Eater had both Terry's arms extended above his head. His eyes were lit with the anticipation of pushing the younger man to the ground. Cocking her head, she created a line-of-sight. Her aim had to be perfect.

Calling out the word _Sonorus_ in her mind, hollering, "_Dissendium_!" with her voice, she fired two bursts of magic. _Eat this, fuckwad._

Catching a snippet of Terry squealing like a girl when he realized he was grasping onto a pair of newly severed Death Eater's hands was all the thanks she needed. The Death Eater, pain and hatred dominated his features. Grasping what happened to him, he focused glittering eyes on Susan. An ugly smirk of her own answered his silent accusation. "Like the taste of _that_, bitch?" was all the insult she had time for before he was cut down by one of his own. Stepping up to take on another opponent, she yelled at the Ravenclaw. "Hold the fucking line, Boot!"

Somehow, through the din, the sound of alarm was heard from Daphne. Swaying, the earth beneath her feet began to tremble and shift. Dirt and clumps of earth were rising around them and converging overhead. Sight was becoming impossible. She heard choking sounds coming from those nearby. Shallow panting was a poor substitute for regular respiration.

War-cries whooped by voices descending from above was the precursor to seeing Hell on Earth. A great roaring filled the battle zone. Never before seen projections of blue, red and orange marbled fire ignited behind enemy lines. Wall after wall of rushing heat plastered their clothes against their bodies and stole their breaths. Dragon-fire was a double edged sword realized too late. It decimated the enemy and burned the oxygen Susan and her comrades needed to breathe.

From her ears to Neville's mouth, Ron Weasley's edict echoed in her mind. _The line has to hold_. _Tell your people that they have to hold the line_. The edges of her vision began to blur, each gasping breath made possible by her mantra:_ the line has to hold. The line has to hold._

Raising her wand, strength leaching from her being with every passing second, she angled her chin towards Neville. Eyes streaming, she made him watch her mouth four syllables. Seeing him nod in acknowledgement and turn to Daphne, it was up to her to get Terry's attention. Conjuring an orb of blue fire tapped her reserve strength. Lobbing it at Boot's feet had her bracing her hands on her knees and nearly pissing herself with a series of rib-popping coughs. Looking in the direction that the ball of fire came from, Terry leaned forward and grasped what she was teaching him. Comprehension had him wiping his eyes and standing straight up. A resolute grimness spread across his face as he spaced his legs hip-wide.

Resettling her wand at chest level, balancing her weight just above her knees, she took up her own 'now or never' stance. Tracing small circles in the air, she chanted the same word, the same four syllables, over and over. Her voice became stronger as oxygen-enriched blood pulsed in her body. Every repetition translated to a larger circle being drawn in the air more quickly.

"Anapneo!" Daphne chanted, her hair whipping in every direction.

"Anapneo!" Casting his spell, Neville picked up where Daphne left off. His garments billowed and snapped as wildly as Daphne's hair.

"Anapneo!" Timing her voice so that her first syllable immediately followed Neville's last, her mantra channelled her magic. Centring her gravity was the only thing that kept her vertical.

"Anapneo!" Terry anchored the rhythm and finished just as Daphne began again, his own struggle to not to topple over evident in his face.

Blending and melding into one another, four vortexes of swirling, dirty, debris filled air were flung as a single force against the enemy.

Colliding with the subsiding flames, a fresh conflagration violently exploded. The defensive aspect of the magic kicked in; the spell kept the vicious heat within the ranks of Voldemort's supporters. Death Eater masks melted against faces; the smell of singed werewolf tainted the wind and a pocket of Dark allies fell dead.

Lowering her wand when the bulk of the danger passed, she braced her hands on her hips. In front of her, a fresh horde of undesirables were rallying, filling in the gaps left by the dead. The realization that the climax of the battle had yet to occur steeled her spine. Pushing her tiredness aside and ignoring the light-headedness that threatened her balance, she squeezed the last of the gritty water from her eyes. Looking up and down the line, Terry, Daphne and Neville and those beyond them were still up-right and ready to fight

._The line will hold, Aunt Amelia_. Chancing a look at the sky, eight dragons flew overhead and out of sight. A distant school memory whispered to her inner warrior: _Weasley was a strategist_.

Picking her next opponent with a well-placed jeer and letting it come to her, she renewed her vow. _The line will hold until all your pieces are in place, Weasley_.

_The line will hold. _


End file.
